Quotes about echo

Seeing the faults of others is indeed an echo of our own fault the biggest fault is our own fault. That is known as the mad ego.

Ieder orgasme is een kleine echo van de oerknal geen wonder dat sex van alle tijden is.(Translated into English: 'Every orgasm is a little echo of the Big Bang no wonder sex is of all times.' )

Tonight I miss you like the sky misses his moon a delicate epiphany growing on grass. I serenade the breeze into dancing a cha cha cha the mountains echo in the background. September sky never looked more charming or the sublime petals of the rose looked so graceful.

Grief loves the hollow all it wants is to hear its own echo.

Everybody feel pain except a woman who kicks a man in the balls.

If the world appears abundant in smiles or overwhelmed by scowls, you might ask yourself if you're not to blame.

The only existence I know now is the one I was given. An echo of what used to be.

Just Echo.

And where there is no Echo there is no description of space or love. There is only silence.

The echo of a red rose
at the sunset, you decided
to check out.

Life writes the poetry, but it will always call for witnesses and scribes alike to tattoo its echoes upon the ghosts of trees.

Everywhere man blames nature and fate, yet his fate is mostly but the echo of his character and passions, his mistakes and weaknesses.

Knowledge is soon changed, then lost in the mist, an echo half-heard.

And the sea trickling out of my eye as if I'd always carried it inside me, like a seashell waiting to be cupped to an ear.

I’m looking for youin the bare corridor where my shadow is the only passerbyharmonizing an unsettling whisper: echoed through my chiming thoughtsFrom the poem 'Looking For You

That echo. It played in his head at unexpected moments, repeating certain sounds and making nonsense of them. But could you remember an echo? Memory itself was like another kind of echo, everything duplicating endlessly, in shadow versions of itself.

Life’s harrowing echo only to be faded into exiled loneliness

The desperate piercing scream of horror echoed far above the sharpened tops of the trees wrapped in thin obsidian-transparent mist, and I startled jerkily, tripping again, and almost collapsed onto the cold moist ground.

In Damascus:poems become diaphanousThey’re neither sensualnor intellectualthey are what echo saysto echo . . .

She was sitting in a dark room, curled up and her head buried on her knees. His name echoing in her mind, like a thunder over a seashore. She was torn between the happiness brought by the waves, that touched her feet and fear of losing herself in the chaos. created by the sound that shattered her whole world into pieces.

Aires and Echo Emerson. Their mother must have hated them to give them names like that.

Soon the maroon-throated howls would echo back from the other trees, father down the beach, until the whole jungle filled with roaring trees. As it was in the beginning, so it is every morning of the world.

I could still feel the echo of his hand on mine.

Oh, Narcissus! My heart beats ink for you.A pulse in every line.It's your eyesmy words want to be read by,your kind of mindthey would be understood by,your heartthey'd be felt by,and then you'd feel the same way that I do,if only these words could be read or heard by you.

Beautiful songs and voice echo in my heart.

love is but an echo in her head

What you listen in heart, are echoes of the past.What you write today, will be echoed in the future.

Anything said is gone as soon as it leaves my lips. Things written down at least have a chance to leave a soft echo of what had been.

When you speak, your words echo only across the room or down the hall. but when you write, your words echo down the ages.

Words never fade away but echo on for eternity. Let your echo ring sweet.

Nothing is ever over when it is alive inside a human heart. You'll always be an echo in my words.

Sometimes I hear the echo of your voice in an empty hall and it reminds me that you're gone.

I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of the hunger for life that gnaws in us all.

Strong words resonate.

A word into the silence thrown always finds its echo somewhere where silence opens hidden lexicons.

Your true friends echo your own philosophies back at you.

I scream out the ropes of words that bound my tongue, and the heavens echo back...'I love you'.

Echo of the waves appears in the sky, their lights reflected in your eyes. I'm back in our world and happy again. The sound of your voice, compassionate embrace... The power in your touch, serenity of stride... The beating of your heart calms down my presence, gracing with eternal peace of mind... Bathing in the sunshine of your arms I'm deeply aware of the melodic stream that has no language...gliding beneath the quiet Heaven of your eyes...

Lisbon, to me, is the Lisbon of Pessoa. Just like London is Woolf’s, or rather, Mrs. Dalloway’s. Barcelona is Gaudí's and Rome is da Vinci’s. You see them in every crevice and hear their echoes in every cathedral. I’d like to be the child, or rather, the mother of a city but I neither have a home nor a resting place. My race is humankind. My religion is kindness. My work is love and, well, my city is the walls of your heart.

He is deaf, and keen to accept,any economical operation,that will correct his situation.He visited the doctor best,and started talking on subject,like the after-effects, and if any threats.The doctor medically checked,and asked him what he expects?He expressed, he wants to be addressed-in words, and not in signs.And how keen he is, to have his ears listening.He wants to listen the echo of,sun-set over that crimson dawn.He is keen to know, the sound of,a blooming rose.He wants to know what it sou

Every touch of you on my skin has burnt and etched your name on my soul. Whenever I close my eyes and try to feel myself, all I can hear is constant echoes of your name in my head, and all I can feel is the constant longing for the darkness.

The child inside me wouldn't stop crying. Every time it loses something so important to it. A person or a thing it loves the most, I pretend like nothing happened. But I hear it sobbing helplessly inside me. And the pathetic part of all this is, It neither grows up nor dies. Every time I stand in front of a mirror, it stares at me through my eyes. With its tear-stained face and that intense eyes that rip my ribs apart and the cry of it echoes through every room of my soul.

Leo couldn't help smiling. "That could be fun.""Fun" she said unhappily."Blue elephants.""Blue elephants.""Kiss me you fool.""You fool.

Stop!" Narcissus got to his feet. "This is not right! This person is obviously not awesome, so he must be..." He struggled for the right words. It had probably been a long time since he'd talked about anything other than himself. "He must be tricking us." Apparently Narcissus wasn't completely stupid.

Listen to the sadness,the echoes in my mind,the place where I usually hide,but now I cannot find.Why had it happened?What had I done?Where was I going?Now I'm on the run.Hiding from the echoes,the pounding in my ears,the beatings getting louder,it isn't death, I fear!

Maybe we will meet again in the paths of dreaming, but my heart tells me this is farewell.

I wasn't used to be these weak before. But the day I saw you, it felt like somebody was punching me very hard on my chest. It was hard to breathe, it was hard to sleep. With your name echoing in my mind all the time. Like somebody was singing a song to me, that no one else heard. It was the first time I realised how beautiful it is to be weak.

This empty shell holds nothing but the echoes of what was.

To be happy to be sad and sad to be happy is to sing an echo in that beautiful language called Sorrow.

Your daughter's coming of age, you ought to let her see the world a little.

Quotes are echos of voices transporting wisdom, humor, and love. Returning again to the human condition, fleeting once more as a dove.

People nowadays talk about the world's problems like they're reading lines off a teleprompter. They recite what they're told and echo it without thinking. It has become easier to divide people than to unify them, and to blind them than to give them vision. We are no longer unified like a bowl of Cheerios. Instead, we have become as segregated as a box of Lucky Charms. Every day we see the same leprechauns on TV acting like they're the experts of everything.

...there was something in the texture of the weave that felt happy: theecho of a memory so far down in his soul it was all emotion, aburst of colour and warmth, adrift from time and place.